Tekken Rhapsody
by speccyboy
Summary: The King of Iron First Tournament seen through the eyes of an electronic instrumental progressive rock band. Experience the highs and lows as the musicians attempt to mingle with the fighters. Will focus on Tekken 1 (and possibly Tekken 2). Based on This Is Spinal Tap. :) Now aborted and converted into a Virtua Fighter fanfic - "Virtua Rhapsody".
1. Chapter 1

**Tekken Rhapsody**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, except for my OCs Sandro Peseta, Yakov Skulachev and Hans von Braun.**

**Prologue**

The King of Iron Fist Tournament was a name that struck fire into the hearts of many competitors and fighters around the World. Every man and woman wanted to be a part of the Tournament just to get a glimpse of fighting the Boss himself Heihachi Mishima. What many people are not aware of is the Tournament's lighter and softer side, courtesy of an electronic chiptune music band which owned the world of computer and video game music until they were given a chance to expand into superstardom with a live gig at the Mishima Zaibatsu to celebrate the Tournament. The band was known as Enlightenment, and this is their story, so prepare for highs and lows, laughs and tears, comedy and drama, and a retro fucking soundtrack.


	2. Chapter 2

**Tekken Rhapsody**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except for my OCs**

**Chapter 1 **

_**Hallenstadion, City of Zurich, Zurich, Switzerland - 27 June 1987 **_

British-based Chiptune prog-rock group _Enlightenment_ had been playing together since their college days, when they had shared their mutual affection for video game music. Right now, they were performing before an audience of 13,000 nerds and music lovers, mainly German speakers. They were nearing the end of what was meant to be their last show on their current tour in support of their album _Generations of Duality_, characterised by each of the three keyboardists taking turns in playing a piece of classical music individually. The audience applauded and the show concluded as the trio Sandro Peseta, Yakov Skulachev and Hans von Braun headed backstage after they what believed to be their last concert on their European tour. They had yet to break the US. A man with dark hair, a moustache and an odd diagonal hairline Heihachi Mishima was in attendance as he followed the band backstage. Sandro, the eldest and tallest of the three, 22 going on 23, was still high from the energy delivered during the performance. "YES!" He shouted out. "I was on fucking fire tonight. WE were on fucking fire!" He laughed as he took a swig of vodka to calm down; his friend Yakov the middle musician, 22 years old, remained calm like a stoic samurai.

"Personally, I thought the audience was quite placid compared to the more rowdy folks we played to a few days ago." Yakov spoke up, the Soviet musician observing his friend's behaviour as he sighed while muttering something in Russian.

"Oh, you mean those fucking garlic-chomping rod-sparers in the Parc des Princes in Paris? What about the arse-spraying drug-probers at the Groenoordhallen in Leiden who booed the shit out of us until I had to give them a piece of my mind like a Venetian version of Superman?" Sandro retorted as the booze began to take effect, followed by the Italian keyboardist cursing in his native language as Heihachi slowly made his way through the rather lax security, as the band did not believe in bodyguards.

"Europe's great, but we've still got to break America. I mean, we've done two albums and we've only toured Europe. We were lucky to play in Budapest, man. Hell, I think Munich was our best gig as a whole." Hans, the youngest of the three (younger by only a mere fortnight than Yakov) spoke up. The three electro-pianists began contemplating work for their next album as Heihachi reached them, dressed in a suit and necktie, accompanied by a guardian.

"Boys, that was a unique show you put on. I am impressed." He smiled as a slightly drunk Sandro squinted at him, the musician sitting up as his addled memory became clear once more. I've got an offer for you: You play a show for me and my fighters and I'll help you break America."

"Fighters? What are you talking about?" Sandro asked, the normally abrasive and outspoken young man rather polite and civilised for a change. Heihachi handed the trio some plane tickets.

"All expenses paid - the Tournament is in the coming days, so I suggest you get some sleep and leave tomorrow." Heihachi replied with a slight smirk on his face. "Good day, boys." With those words, the Mishima chairman left. Sandro looked at the ticket as the booze began to leave his body, his eyes widening slightly as the realisation set in.

"Guys, look at this! The King of Iron Fist Tournament sponsored by the Mishima Zaibatsu in Tokyo! Tokyo - fucking Japan! They LOVE our shit there!" He said jubilantly.

"What do we do?" Yakov asked curiously. "We can't just turn down this offer, right?"

"Damn right, Yak!" Sandro replied as he looked up to the Heavens. "Our prayers have been answered." He turned to some of the roadies. "One more show: The Mishima Zaibatsu Arena in Tokyo, Japan!" There was a clamour of voices from the roadies.

"I hear there are going to be some pretty stiff fighters there." Hans surmised - he was not too sure if he liked the sound of this gig.

"Yes, I heard that the Irish assassin Nina Williams will be there. The blonde bitch with a thing for purple tight-fitting Lycra catsuits, endlessly straddling her opponents as she beats them and throws them into submission while breaking their shinbones and giving them sexy but deadly looks." Yakov mused. "What do you think, San?" He turned to face Sandro, his eyes widening slightly as he stared out into Space. "Sandro?" Yakov waved his hand in front of Sandro, a look of worry evident on his face. "Hans, I think the booze went to his head too soon." Hans just sighed in disbelief and cursed in German before Sandro finally spoke up.

"I m not drunk, Yak. I was just thinking about what you were saying." With those words, he just crossed his legs as he wiped the image of him being straddled by the famous Nina away from his mind. He turned to his friends. "One more gig and then this tour is definitely over." With those words, the trio headed back to their hotel in the centre of the City of Zurich and into their bedrooms. Sandro lay on his bed, trying to sleep... but all he could think of was Nina straddling him on top of his keyboard.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 2**

**Zurich Airport, City of Zurich, Zurich, Switzerland – 28 June 1987**

The next day, the airport in the city centre was filled to the brim with the members of _Enlightenment_ and their entourage. As they approached a gate, however, Heihachi was there to greet them. "Why are you taking this way like everybody else? Come, you can use my private jet.'"Sandro looked at Yakov and Hans, who simply boarded the private jet without question (complete with roadies and equipment).

"You sure you got a podium to fit all this shit, man?" Sandro asked as he boarded the private jet with a combination of awe and disbelief. He was given a reply in the form of a subtle chuckle as the private jet took off, leaving Switzerland as it soared over Europe, crossing the Ural Mountains into Asia. "Tell us more about this Tournament – I'm eager to know just how many rowdy anal bags of testosterone-pumped cum-buckets will be attending." Sandro persisted, as his moment of civility did not last too long. Yakov sighed as he spoke up.

"What our friend means to say…" he began as Heihachi raised his hand slowly, cutting off the Soviet musician.

"I understand entirely what your friend means to say, Mr Skulachev." He responded calmly. "The King of Iron Fist Tournament is the first of its kind – a combat championship formed to bring forth all the World's best fighters in the Martial Arts, the prize being the Zaibatsu itself." He paused, giving Hans a window to provide his input.

"So why us? We're not fighters, we're musicians." He replied as he cursed quietly in German.

"You three are of exceptional talent – I've seen your shows and I think you could be of great interest and of unique use to the entertainment provided for the fighters." As Heihachi spoke, a plan formed in Sandro's head.

_God, I hope we can film this gig. I mean, it's going to skyrocket us into super-fucking-stardom, and it's going to be monumental!_ His mind screamed at the prospect of finally becoming a stadium icon, a far cry from his genesis as a humble session player. He looked at Heihachi. "We're in. We'll even do it for free." He smiled. Yakov turned to face Sandro with a look of worry.

"For free…? San, are you off your meds?" Yakov asked.

"What's wrong with doing a free gig, Yak?" Sandro retorted as Hans sighed, knowing this was going to be a LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONG flight. "Money isn't everything. Besides, think of how many women will turn up at the gig."

"Is getting your penis wet ALL you care about, Sandro?" Hans spoke up in an attempt to placate his quarrelling bandmates.

"No, Hans. I'm more interested in how our newfound popularity can open up new doors for us, and if the human plum's going to be there, then I want to be there to suck the juice out of the fruit." Sandro retorted. "We're going to be bigger than the Charterhouse Proggers and the Rock-and-Roll Royal Family." He laughed as he and Yakov continued to bicker and argue throughout the flight, Hans simply listening and trying to mediate.

In the safety of the cockpit, Heihachi simply smirked as he watched the three musicians argue amongst themselves, observing their behaviour silently as preparations for the first Tournament were underway. _My son is back. _He thought. _He will be coming for me… I should have found a steeper and higher cliff. Bugger… fuck._ As he snapped out of his fearful reverie, he watched the chiptune rockers' argument become more frantic, Sandro beginning to wave and wildly gesticulate with his arms while Yakov put his hands on his hips in a pejorative and effeminate manner, Hans now lighting a cigarette to calm his nerves. The Mishima Zaibatsu Concorde had microphones built into the main part of the plane.

"I'm saying we should try and mingle as well as play." Sandro stated.

"You're saying we should get our penises wet." Yakov countered.

"Oh, fuck off, Yak – it's not all about wanking and fucking, the life of a rock star." Sandro retorted as he took a drink of vodka.

"Well, you're expecting the both of us to be PERFECT before you even attempt to get down with the ladies." Yakov spat back – he was losing the argument and he knew it.

"Oh, don't be so fucking ridiculous. Unlike you, I tend to keep my hands off women until I know them well enough – I don't need a year's supply of condoms… in your case, four… to satiate my sexual desires, I've got a big enough penis as it is." Sandro semi-boasted as Hans just smirked, watching the two strong-willed band members argue like bickering siblings.

In the cockpit, Heihachi's face crumbled into a bit of a groan as a single thought entered his mind. _What have I done? How can these talented musicians be such children? How can I lure my son, Kazuya, out into this trap, when I have these three idiots bickering and arguing half the time?_

_How?_

_HOW?_

_HOW?_

The jet eventually arrived at an airport in Japan, the Sun setting over the Horizon as the Sky darkened slowly.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 3 **

**Narida International Airport, Tokyo, Japan – 29 June 1987**

The Mishima Zaibatsu Concorde careened to a private runaway at the Narida International Airport. Before the band could speak, their equipment was quickly loaded into a Mishima Zaibatsu van, while the members of _Enlightenment_ themselves were greeted by limousine. "Enjoy your moment of celebrity stardom – this is just a free preview." Heihachi said as Yakov and Hans entered the limousine. Sandro smiled at the Mishima Chairman.

"Thanks and fuckity-bye." He said before his bandmates dragged him into the limo, which sped off without a word.

**Mishima Zaibatsu HQ, Tokyo, Japan – 29 June 1987**

"Sandro… I know you want to be the greatest human fucking being in the World and all that bullshit… but could you keep your mouth shut next time!?" Yakov squealed in an unusually high-pitched tone as the trio were escorted to the Mishima Zaibatsu HQ in the centre of Tokyo City. As soon as the limo stopped, the trio were escorted to their rooms – a giant penthouse suite. "We're sharing together?" Yakov asked apprehensively. The porter nodded wordlessly. "O… K…" He continued, not used to sharing a room with anyone, let alone members of the opposite sex.

"Where are we going to rehearse?" Hans enquired. "I don't want to awaken everyone in the middle of the night with a poorly-chipped rendition of Mozart's Requiem." He quipped worriedly. The porter simply handed them a note, which read: 'Sub-Basement 1.' He then left, leaving the three chip-rockers in the suite. There was an awkward pause. "This isn't going to be like that shitty basement studio in Munich, is it?" The German musician asked. "I don't want the Chorus of the Falling Jet Set Fucking Willies on our next record." Sandro chuckled at the joke.

"You guys do what you want. I'm going to meet the fighters." With those words, he rubbed his hands together with a huge smile on his face. Descending into the main atrium of the Mishima Zaibatsu Building itself, the Italian musician looked around him and his eyes widened slightly as he saw approximately 20 or so people present. _They look like the fighters to me. Let's have a look at who's who. _He thought to himself. Scanning the environment carefully, he spotted some familiar faces. _Well, I say familiar… they've been forcing this Tournament down my fucking throat so much it's coming out of my rectum like the tail of a Playboy bunny. Anyway, let's move onto the chatting-up phase._ He thought as he jumped past a pumped-up-looking Paul Phoenix, approaching a bar, where a solitary figure with a sword sat – Yoshimitsu. "Hey, man." Sandro said as he approached the samurai-ninja hybrid man who turned around with a smile, which disquieted him slightly. "I'll be back… after a new change of Y-fronts." He said meekly, backing off as he bumped into somebody behind him. Before Sandro could react, he found himself with a knife at his neck accompanied by a low female voice:

"You should watch where you're going. I don't want to have to stain this carpet with your blood." Sandro, undeterred, turned around… and he found himself face-to-face with the woman herself.

"So you're the keyboard-straddle girl, I mean… the human plum… I mean… the Irish assassin…" His words were cut off in a less-than-pleasant manner.

"Yes, that's me. Nina Williams. What about it?" She asked in her trademark calm-but-deadly tone, smirking slightly at his amusing comments and his slightly nervous posture. Sandro sighed as he worked his quick wit to his advantage.

"I heard you'd be here – I'm one of the guys they hired to play a free show with as much mainstream appeal as drawing a smiley face on my bollocks while wearing a T-shirt with an erect penis on it." This comment earned him a raised eyebrow and a wicked smile.

"Sandro Peseta… Italian musician and anti-authoritarian human rights activist…?" Nina asked coldly as the Irish blonde eyed up the Italian dark-haired artist. Sandro nodded wordlessly as the fair-haired purple-clad contract killer looked at him in a cold but sexy manner. "Maybe you can give me some human rights sometime…?" She smirked seductively before leaving. "Ciao!"

In his office, Heihachi stood by his long-time aide, Kenji. Observing the fighters' mingling, he looked around for Kazuya, ultimately spotting his son standing in a corner, out of sight, only his slicked-back hair giving him away. "Petulant child…" Heihachi muttered as Kenji observed quietly. "Kenji, make the announcement that the Tournament begins in 2 days, with the final to take place on the 4th, along with the show these musical eccentrics will provide us." Kenji nodded silently and left, while Heihachi looked at Kazuya through the CCTV monitors. "Kazuya… you should have stayed at the bottom of that blasted cliff." The Mishima Chairman said through gritted teeth.


End file.
